


Braids

by 14winters



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8630179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/14winters/pseuds/14winters
Summary: Sherlock braids Joan's hair at an inopportune moment. Joan is too sleep deprived to care.I was inspired to write this by letsjuliep's response to this tumblr post they reblogged from me. Previously posted on tumblr.





	

Joan had not slept well the night before. Her algebra assignment had taken her far too long to finish and she vaguely remembered dozing off with her bedside lamp still on and her window still open. The only reason she hadn’t been late is her mom had woken her ten minutes before her bus would arrive. She’d barely had time to brush her teeth, let alone do anything with her hair. It was up in a messy bun on top of her head, something Joan’s pride could barely accept. But that was life sometimes.

Her first hour was English, with Sherlock. He was already seated at his customary desk in the very back left corner of the room. She slumped into the desk in front of him, as usual.

“You’re late,” he said immediately, and she could feel his stare on the back of her neck like someone had thrown a spitball at her. She rolled her eyes.

“Morning, Sherlock,” she mumbled, taking out her pencil pack, the green notebook for English, and her copy of _The Grapes of Wrath_. Not looking at him. “And I’m not late. I’m just not as early.”

She almost felt him shrug. And then his eyes inevitably moved up to her messy bun. The endlessly turning wheels inside his head were obviously deducing how her morning had gone. He wisely said nothing.

Class wouldn’t start for another ten minutes. All Joan could think about was that she’d missed breakfast. She slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes. She hated algebra.

“Did you bring your hairbrush with you?” Sherlock’s sudden question made her jerk slightly, her eyes flying open. His words registered two seconds later. She fought not to cover her eyes with her hand.

“Yes…why?” she said slowly, half turning toward him.

He was as bright and alert as ever, the fingers of his left hand incessantly tapping towards the top of his desk, and a pen spinning erratically in his right. His book was nowhere to be seen, of course. He was trying out a new challenge, or experiment, whatever, where he sought to memorize each reading assignment they were given and show the teacher he didn’t need the book in front of him to contribute to discussion. He’d only had to cheat off her twice.

He looked down at her backpack and up to her face, his expression eager. “I want to try something.”

“Sherlock, I’m not in the mood,” she said, turning away from him and opening her notebook to her most recent notes.

“It’s not something you have to be in the mood for,” he said, putting some emphasis on the word ‘mood’. She sighed. Audibly. “It’s just something I want to try,” he continued, totally un-phased.

“Fine,” she snapped, bending down and retrieving her hairbrush. She always carried one, with hair as long as hers. She thrust it back at him, without turning around. He wordlessly took it.

“Let your hair down please,” he said, still completely unbothered by her irritation.

She _tsk_ ed, but did as he asked, yanking at the hair tie until her hair tumbled out of its ridiculous bun into a mess of tangles down her back.

He then began to gently brush her hair, starting from the ends and working his way up. She knew it had to be somewhat awkward, his desk between them, but she said nothing. If he thought he was doing her a favor, she wasn’t going to dissuade him. She’d tried that before and it never worked out.

Class was going to start in less than three minutes, and Joan was no more alert than she’d been when she’d gotten off the bus. Her eyes drifted shut again as Sherlock continued brushing her hair.

She actually dozed for a few seconds, maybe even a minute. Her eyes jerked open when she heard their teacher enter the room. Sherlock’s fingers were running through her hair now. He was parting it to braid it. She blinked several times, getting her bearings again. Sherlock kept messing with her hair, despite the fact their teacher Mr. Larson was beginning the lesson. She carefully reached for a pencil, not moving her head so Sherlock could keep doing…whatever he was doing. She was just too tired to care.

Mr. Larson had barely begun speaking when she heard Sherlock lean forward to speak to her. This was something he always did, every first hour.

“Last night I was reading up on secret codes,” Sherlock whispered. She didn’t turn around, feigning an attentive expression toward Mr. Larson.

“I believe it would be beneficial for us to develop one,” Sherlock continued. Joan realized she had not caught a word Mr. Larson had said. She sighed again, but kept it inward.

“Why? We can text,” she muttered back, making sure Mr. Larson was looking away from their corner.

“In the event we _cannot_ text,” Sherlock answered, his British accent coming out full force with each consonant, despite the fact he was whispering. “I believe your long hair can serve as an asset.”

“A what?” she said, wanting to laugh.

“Braids, Watson. You’ve utilized a great variety in the time I’ve known you. We can make our own code based on them.” He definitely had that excited tone in his voice, telling her he couldn’t wait to tell her this until their passing period.

She couldn’t believe she was having this discussion. She bit her lip, still trying not to laugh. “Like in baseball?” she whispered, not moving her head but glancing sideways nonetheless. No one was looking at them. Sherlock had begun braiding her hair again.

“Yes, exactly,” Sherlock whispered back, and she could feel how rapidly his fingers were moving through her hair in his excitement. She let a silent giggle escape, her shoulders shaking.

“Joan. Sherlock. Why don’t you join us?” Mr. Larson’s voice, which managed to be both mocking and disapproving at this ungodly hour, cut in on Joan’s temporary feeling of bliss, making her heart jump and heat flood her face. Now everyone was looking at them.

Sherlock continued braiding her hair. She could tell he couldn’t give less of a fuck right now.

“Almost done, Mr. Larson,” Sherlock said absently. Several students snickered.

Mr. Larson did not look pleased. Joan was horrified. But she didn’t want to get her hair pulled, so she stayed still, trying to look anywhere but at all the eyes focused on them.

Sherlock’s hand appeared to her right. “Hair tie,” he said, completely unruffled by this situation. She could punch him.

Instead she handed him the hair tie. He tied off the end of her braid. She had no idea what sort of braid it was, she’d been dozing off too much to pay attention. Her face was bright red, she was sure. Her freckles probably looked ridiculous.

“All done, Mr. Larson. And about your question concerning the turtle…”

Joan blocked out the rest of Sherlock’s statement. As soon as his hands left her hair, she quickly leaned forward and bent her head to her notebook, wanting to be swallowed up by the floor. Sherlock was going to _get it_ later.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first effort at writing HS AU Joanlock! It was too tempting to resist. I love when couples play with each other's hair, probably because I love when people play with mine. 
> 
> I had a teacher named Larson in middle school who was mean to me, hence that name choice. She thought I had an attitude when i didn't mean to - this often happened when i was a kid. It was nice to imagine Sherlock having an attitude and just Not Caring - giving zero fucks. And yes, the turtle is one of the few things I remembered from _The Grapes of Wrath_. Or was it a tortoise? I enjoyed that book but I haven't read it for over 7 years.


End file.
